


Beneath Starlight

by BeneathAScorpionSky



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Mentions of the Dead Universe, introspective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25651840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeneathAScorpionSky/pseuds/BeneathAScorpionSky
Summary: Cyclonus stands at the window and thinks. Tailgate is oblivious but he's got candy.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Beneath Starlight

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a while ago and just  
> never did anything else with it and it was rotting in my drafts so I thought I'd just  
> bite the bullet and post it   
> I don't know all the canon since I only read MTMTE/LL so, yeah, sorry if I got some of it wrong

He leaned against the wall, eyes fixed on the window as he scoured the stars and the darkness between them. The navigational system placed them in an area of empty space. The stars he was seeing would take months to reach even with the Lost Light's exceptional engines. It would take even longer, they estimated, before they reached a planet suitable for flying.

Cyclonus had to resist the urge to scratch at his winglets. Space flights were an option, but it was a dismal replacement for atmospheric flying.  
He'd survive. He'd gone longer and he'd coped doing exactly this. Much. Much longer.  
Lost Light wasn't the Ark-1, could never be anything like Ark-1.

Ill-fated as the Lost Light was, Cyclonus was convinced it had something, someone looking out for it and its crew. The Lost Light had a destiny. Ark-1 had been doomed.  
And, Cyclonus used to think, so had he. When he'd stood at a viewport for time unmemorable, staring into a depth, hoping, pleading to see a single star.

Time there had no meaning, but with normal equations he'd probably spent actual centuries unmoving as his mind and body grew old.

At one point in that unfortunate adventure he had been positive he'd spend the rest of his life at that viewport. His joints would settle into immobility, rust would take him, eating at his armor, protoform, then struts until he was hollow and he'd still stare with open sockets where his eyes had been. Then, perhaps a century perhaps longer, but eventually the ship would shudder and his fragile dust frame would collapse and his flicker of a spark would burn out. All that would be left of Cyclonus of Upper Tetrehex would be a dataghost lingering at the window, hoping to see a single star where the were none.

"Rust stick?"

Cyclonus broke out of his thoughts without so much as a flinch and took the rust stick.

Tailgate pulled himself up onto the sill with one hand, tin of candies rattling in the other "Whatcha thinking bout?"  
"Nothing," Cyclonus bit off the tip of his rust stick and savored it appreciatively.  
After ascertaining that Cyclonus didn't want to talk about himself, Tailgate launched into recounting his own day, which had been spent in a much more mobile fashion than Cyclonus'.

But as wrapped up in his story-telling he was, Tailgate stilled offered Cyclonus another stick as soon as the last one was finished.

The box ran empty in the middle of the story how Tailgate, Rewind, and Anode had been resealing the inner bulkheads of one of the lower decks. The sealant had spilled and Rewind's lower half was going to be luminous blue for the next couple of days. 

Tailgate offered him the last stick, but Cyclonus shook his head.

Tailgate broke it in half and jabbed one part at him more insistently. Cyclonus relented and Tailgate went back to prattling, still holding the tin.  
Cyclonus realized he actually really did care about the goings-on of the ship, doubly so because who was telling him.

These next few months were going to be just fine.


End file.
